


Holiday

by yeaka



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tristan gives Duke a Valentines Day present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> This is a redrabbled version of the extremely old story, 'Holiday's Gifts,' from my ancient FFN account.

The entire schools is done up in red and pink; streamers are everywhere and confetti litters the floor. There are cutout paper hearts stuck to random lockers, and flowers are circulating like a bizarrely attractive plague. It’s overwhelmingly obnoxious.

Tristan, for the first time ever, doesn’t mind.

Usually, he isn’t any happier about Valentines Day than any other single guy. ...Although he’s never been one to outright speak against it; it’s hard to be moody in his group of friends. Yugi’s still prone to random fits of elated giggles over the gift he got from Yami earlier. Tea’s swooning at every romantic gesture, and Joey’s marveling in the wealth of easily-obtained circulating chocolate. Even Ryou’s a blushing mess—he’s been hovering behind Seto Kaiba all day.

Duke’s at his own table, sitting alone, which is just plain bizarre on any day, _especially_ Valentines. It makes Tristan hesitate halfway across the cafeteria. There’s a little box in his hands that he personally wrapped last night, after personally creating the contents. It’s a gesture gift, really—Tristan doesn’t have a lot of extra money. But he does have a lot of heart, and he put every bit of that into his present. With a deep breath, he steels himself to approach the lone dice master, heart beating slightly irregularly.

Duke puts down his book when Tristan reaches him. He doesn’t have any food, and one hand is idly playing with a stray strand of dark hair. He looks gorgeous but decidedly unpleasant, and there’s a rock in Tristan’s stomach.

Tristan still asks, “Where’s the fanclub?” Because the empty table is starting to give him chills.

“Told them to screw off,” Duke drawls, frowning. “I think I scared a few.”

Tristan’s own smile wavers. He can take a hint. But he’s stubborn more than he is polite, and he didn’t pep talk himself up all night just to walk away. “In a bad mood, I take it?”

“I _hate_ Valentines Day,” Duke grumbles. Which is sort of a shock. He probably gets more Valentines gifts than everyone else in the school combined, and Tristan entirely understands why. Duke continues to play with his hair while Tristan waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

After a minute, Tristan mumbles, “Why? I mean, I know it can get a little silly, but at least it’s a positive idea, and it gives a lot of people an excuse to tell their crushes how they feel.”

Duke snorts and rolls his emerald eyes. “It’s a commercial holiday simply there to waste our time and money. It’s depressing for those of us who are tired of receiving millions of clichéd heart-shaped cards with absolutely no genuine value whatsoever, and it’s even worse for those who don’t have someone special. The gifts exchanged hardly hold any meaning anyway, other than a price tag. I. Hate. It.”

And with that, he picks up his book and starts reading as though Tristan never existed. Raising his eyebrows, Tristan has to shake off his shock. For a moment he considers, backing off—he glances across the cafeteria, where his friends are all sitting together, laughing and smiling. Except Ryou, who’s sitting at the edge of the table, staring sadly at Kaiba, who’s typing on his laptop two tables away.

Tristan doesn’t want to be like that. He spent all night making his gift, and the night before that, and several before that. He even got his father to help with the carving, and he borrowed all of his mother’s paints. He started over too many times to count, in an effort to make it all perfect. Because Duke’s perfect, and he deserves the best. Tristan doesn’t have the best, but he tried.

He walks around the table and sits down across from Duke, leaning over to slide the little red box underneath Duke’s book. Duke glances down at it, pretty green eyes widening. Tristan’s acutely aware of his glowing cheeks; he feels like he’s proposing.

“Do you mind getting one more present, anyway?”

There’s a moment were Duke clearly struggles and visibly sets a frown back over his face. He says, “It’s small: can’t be worth much.” Tristan bristles but takes it in stride. Duke glances up at him, and Tristan doesn’t back down.

Duke places the book onto the table, moving to tug off the pink string. It looks horribly cliché, of course, but no one ever accused Tristan of being good at wrapping. He isn’t so sure how good he is at presents, either, but he did his best. Duke opens the small box and stares for a moment, before upturning it and dropping the contents into his open palm.

Two standard-size dice topple out, ornately painted and smoothly lacquered. They glisten under the florescent lights, and Duke turns each one careful over, examining all six sides. Slowly, he breathes, “I’ve never seen anything like these before.”

“That’s probably because I made them,” Tristan mumbles, feeling a little nervous and awkward. “Er, I mean, I know they’re really amateur—I suck at art, and the dragon on that right one is a little off on the ‘three’ side, but—”

Duke cuts him off, insisting quietly, “They’re perfect.”

“Excuse me?” Tristan’s too caught off guard to hear things right. His insides are fluttering too fast.

“I said they’re perfect, moron.” Examining the set carefully, Duke holds up the ‘two’ side. Both die have an elaborate ‘D’ engraved around each dot, in a stunning calligraphy Tristan studied off the internet. Duke tilts his head as if trying to decipher them.

“Duke Devlin or Dungeon Dice, whichever you prefer,” Tristan provides. His tongue feels like it’s swollen or twisted. He’s a little light headed and more than a little giddy. He half expected to be made fun of, and this is probably the best possible reaction.

Closing his long, delicate fingers over them, Duke looks up to say, “I haven’t got anything to give you.”

Tristan just shrugs, because it’d be ridiculous to say something like, ‘your smile was the best present I could get,’ like he wants to. He mutters sheepishly instead, “That’s okay, I didn’t expect anything. ...I just... wanted to show you... you know, that I... I care about you...” That sounds completely stupid. But it’s the best he can do. Duke’s expression remains torturously blank.

Then he says, incredibly nonchalantly, “Do you want a kiss?”

“What?”

“Do you want a kiss?” Duke repeats. And then he has the nerve to smile like the god of sensuality that he is, winking and biting his bottom lip. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous and out of Tristan’s league that it’s not even funny.

Tristan nods dumbly and leans across the table like an idiot.

Duke ignores him and stands up. Duke drifts around the table with swaying hips, tucking the dice into the pocket of his tight, dark leather jeans. Then he’s reaching out a hand—Tristan takes it. He lets himself be tugged up and out of the cafeteria—several sets of eyes watch them go. Duke takes them down a hallway to a deserted staircase, tugging Tristan inconspicuously under it. Most of the students are all off in pairs, tucked away in corners, and Tristan’s dizzy at the thought of doing the same. This... isn’t exactly how he thought it would go.

But he’s more than happy to take it. Duke pulls Tristan by his brown jacket, backing up until he hits the wall, Tristan leaning over him. The shadow of the staircase shields them, and Tristan’s back blocks Duke from view. Duke lifts his hands, shooting to steady Tristan’s head, tilting up on his toes. Tristan’s eyes fall closed on instinct, even though he’d very much like to drink in every centimeter of this view.

Duke’s lips are warm, moist, and soft, and the kiss he gives isn’t chaste. His tongue presses insistently against Tristan’s mouth, and Tristan opens it to fight Duke back. He leans into Duke’s body and fists a hand back in his silky, ebony hair, holding him still while Tristan ravishes him. As soon as Tristan’s tongue is in his mouth, Duke moans, arching up into the touch. His lithe body crushes the air out of Tristan’s lungs—Tristan’s heady and desperate. He can’t believe his luck; he can’t believe this is happening to him.

When Duke parts their lips, Tristan doesn’t want to let him go. Duke’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, his cheeks are a little flushed, and he looks so incredibly sexy that Tristan just wants to flatten him back into the wall and keep going.

Duke says, “Thank you for the dice. Seriously.” Tristan tries his luck and leans back in, but the bell rings before he makes it.


End file.
